


Strange Bedfellows

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biological Weapons, British Politics, Clameron - Freeform, Cleggover, Coalition, Community: clameron, Drug-Induced Sex, From Sex to Love, Lolitics - Freeform, Lots of blue-balling, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Sex Pollen, Some Fluff, Virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 18:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21480577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The consequences of a terrorist attack are unexpected.
Relationships: David Cameron/Nick Clegg
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal by an anonymous author. Imported to AO3 for preservation.

He feels really strange. Slowly drifting towards consciousness, he feels as though he were floating, his head resting on a warm surface that seems to be moving up and down. He doesn't feel bad - just the reverse, in fact. Comfortable. Yes, that's it. Comfortable and with a pleasant languor suggestive of recent pleasurable exercise.

Hmmm. Interesting. But there's a sour note somewhere. What is it?

He drifts closer to waking.

Yes. That's it. He's naked, and there is a gentle draught from somewhere raising goosebumps across his rear. That isn't right...

Dreamily he opens his eyes and tries to process what he sees. His office. The warm, comfortable pillow his head is resting on resolves itself into someone's naked chest. Someone's naked, male chest with at least two visible, fresh love-bites.

What the.?

Slowly, he lifts his head, the effort taking most of his strength, and tries to focus on whoever the hell it is. His movements must have woken his companion, because blue eyes open and stare at him, unfocussed.

Nick Clegg!

*

This is really a very unusual dream. Unique in fact, because Nick knows he's never had a dream about David Cameron before, asleep and lying on top of him. He knows it's a dream because the Prime Minister is completely naked, and bizarrely, they're on the floor of his Parliamentary office. The view is surprisingly, not unpleasant. Nick wonders where in the depths of his psyche this particular image has come from. He knows a little bit about psychology so he's going to be analysing this for years!

There are anomalies though. He's never seen David so peaceful looking; there is a contented smile on the Prime Minister's face and he is definitely cuddling Nick, his head resting on his deputy's bare chest. A cuddly PM has definitely never been part of his thought processes and really, Nick needs to check his sanity, because what part of his mind is inventing that hint of vulnerability and sweetness in the sleeping Cameron visage.

David opens his eyes, and again, Nick would have kicked himself awake if he could, for imagining the sleepy but adorable grin that flashes across the PM's face. No. No. No. David Cameron does not look cute in the morning. Not even a little bit. Nick closes his eyes and tries ignore the situation. Then the PM seems to realise where he is.

"Gaaaahhhh!" David Cameron closes his eyes again and leans his forehead against his Deputy's very comfortable chest. This isn't' happening. It's a bad dream and it's bound to go away sooner or later. He feels Nick's soft chuckle as a very disconcerting rumble beneath him.

Less adorable, more like a lumbering bovine - that was more like it! Nick opens his eyes and meet those of his leader and really, this is becoming surreal because David's reactions are exactly what one might expect, if he found himself naked and compromised with his own Deputy PM, and the reality of that is jarring. Nick laughs. If it's real, it's a hell of a cosmic joke to play on a declared atheist. How to proceed? Maybe just go with it and see what happens. He studies the PM, who appears to be awake now. David's eyes are filled with confusion and more than a little embarrassment.

"That's mature," Nick says softly. "Can you tell me why you're on top of me, Prime Minister?" A pause. Nick smirks and is unable to stop himself from adding, "Um... naked!"

"I don't know." David snaps, his embarrassment growing. "And you're naked too!" he retorts. He lifts his head again and meets his deputy's earnest blue-eyed scrutiny with a glare which somehow fails to convey its normal Prime Ministerial dignity. Not that Nick could claim the moral high ground, looking as wrecked as he does, with wild hair and that luscious, kiss-bruised mouth.

Nick sighs and bites his lip in thought. This situation is getting more interesting all the time. Nick has to admit that having David Cameron in such a compromising position is not the out and out nightmare he had thought it was going to be; the opposite in fact! He's not a prude so he's really enjoying having David look so flustered and off balance at the whole state of affairs, plus the view is still pretty good.

The heated glare David sends towards Nick is definitely more like the David Cameron Nick knows and respects. Still, the fact of his nakedness is a little distracting, especially when a part of him finds David's passionate intensity really, really hot. If this were real, it wouldn't do to get hard and freak out his leader even more than he is right now.

"True," Nick admits, giving a small, crooked smile. "But you're on top." Nick wonders exactly how repressed David is. Just now, he could have sworn that the PM had blushed - actually gone pink to the very tips of his ears - at the sight of a nipple (which is really more alert than it should be in the presence of the leader of the Conservative Party). Oh boy. Dynamite, both politically and personally - when has he ever had such an advantage over the clever, manipulative bastard who leads this country? Not that he's mercenary or anything, but hey, why not enjoy the Cameron blush while he has the opportunity.

David is blushing. He had averted his gaze and discovered one perky nipple inches from his face. Oh boy. Definitely time to move. He tries to push his body away from Nick's and discovers that he doesn't even have the strength to sit up. A wave of dizziness hits him and he moans, his head thumping back down onto Clegg's chest, as he pants in exertion. He clings onto the other man as the world swirls around him.

"David?" Nick's voice is filled with concern.

"Sorry!" he gasps, "Damned dizzy. Think I'll have to stay here for a while!"

"S'okay." David's face has drained of colour. Nick feels immediately guilty at his previous unethical thoughts, but David's movements wake an answering twinge from a very sensitive part of his anatomy. No! Not possible! He couldn't have! Not with uptight, Conservative David Cameron. No matter how liberal a Conservative he claims to be, David just doesn't swing that way!

Oh hell. How have they gotten into such a mess? The last person in the world he would choose to sleep with, Liberal or not, and yet here they are. Being naked is one thing, but to suddenly have your worst suspicions confirmed freaks him out a little. Oh hell, there was no mistaking that particular soreness as anything other than the aftermath of vigorous, enthusiastic sex with a man. Been there, done that - admittedly a very long time ago.

"You do realise we've had sex, don't you?" Nick says softly to David. He never dreams that the other man could go any paler, but the PM does, and Nick feels another twinge of guilt at the flash of vulnerability in David's eyes.

"What!" David stares at him. "I don't remember that!"

"Believe me, I can tell." It's Nick's turn to blush. David really, absolutely doesn't want to think about what Nick means by that remark. Though he really should have worked it out for himself - the pair of them smell of sex and something is distinctly sticky against his belly. "Even though I don't remember it." Nick hesitates. "The last thing I remember clearly is Prime Minister's Question Time. Miliband was grilling you on the Health Service again. Glad I stayed out of that one!"

David remembers something then. Ed Miliband had been haranguing him on accountability issues. Nick had been smirking - The Lib Dems opposed the Conservatives on that point so Miliband's full ire had been directed towards the Conservatives. David had been on his feet, jabbing a finger towards his opponent to make a point when someone had started to yell from the public gallery. He remembers lifting his eyes to see what the fuss was all about and then there had been a cloud of something powdery, floating through the air; sparkling, malignant motes. Instinctively, he had turned away and then...

_...a smell like burned sugar..._

The world brightens; everything going luminous and shimmery. Heat seems to blossom inside him, white hot rage.

Nick Clegg is smirking at him, damn him to hell. The Lib Dem leader has no right to act as if he and his party were so superior. The heat expands inside him and he grabs hold of Nick by the lapels of his suit, dragging him closer. He's going to wipe the smile off that pretty face if it's the last thing he does! Nick looks startled, then David actually sees the pupils in his blue eyes blow wide, even as the noise around them rises to a crescendo. The alarm in those eyes turns to something else - something that makes the heat inside him change from rage to something else just as primal but far more enticing. He drags Nick closer and kisses him fiercely, finding a delicious response there that promises much.

"We were attacked!" David Cameron says softly, putting together the pieces. "There was a white powder." He shivers.

"Yes! Now I remember. You got the strangest look on your face and I thought you were going to hit me. Everyone else was going crazy too. Some of them were fighting and I think there were quite a few tearing at each other's clothes!" Nick frowns, deep in thought. "That stuff did something to us - I remember you grabbing me, then." He blushes and looks away. He doesn't remember clearly what happened after that, but he knows that he was with a man and apparently it was his own Prime Minister.

David winces. His own memories become distinctly confused and hazy at that point, and to be honest, he isn't sure he wants to go there. Still, priorities.

"Okay. Terrorist attack. We all went out of our heads. I guess that's how we ended up here... But there are protocols for this sort of thing! There should be security forces wearing biohazard suits to help us to decontamination units." David scowls.

"Lovely tale they'd have to tell!" Nick retorts. David glares at him, but the Lib Dem does have a point. The publicity if they're found naked and tangled up together doesn't bear thinking about.

"Help me," he says. He gathers his strength and pushes, Nick's hands adding their power, and he rolls off his deputy. His strength seems to be returning; it was easier than he thought.

"Owwww!" Nick yelps as he moves, struggling to sit up. Something else David doesn't want to think about too closely. Interesting view though. He realises abruptly that he is staring at the naked body of his deputy; and yes, there are bruises and love bites and he really is much fitter than the ill-cut suits suggest and.

God! Too much information! Thoroughly freaked out, he forces his mind onto more important issues like where his clothes are. Who the hell knows? But he has a couple of spare suits stored somewhere round here.

*

The two of them make their way slowly through the corridors of power, leaning against each other at first, both of them distinctly unsteady on their feet. Whatever it was, the unknown toxin is still affecting them both. There are signs of chaos everywhere they go. Papers scattering the floor. Nameless stains. Clothing. Through one or two open doors, they see people apparently sleeping.

Finally, they come close to the Chamber of the House. The chaos seems greater there and it sounds as though people are still fighting, even now, hours after the main event. Despite his better judgement, David walks into the chamber, and stops so suddenly that Nick, following behind, collides with him. His deputy's breath is soft against David's cheek.

"Damn!" David swears. Nick peers round him. Two MP's are clumsily fighting, fists bloodied. Neither of them are wearing clothes.  
"Labour, both of them!" Nick says softly, but with a pleased hint of superiority that makes David huff with laughter. Nick clutches at him dizzily. The air is so sparkly and filled with floating dust motes...

The inappropriateness of his words should have warned him that something wasn't right, but it doesn't register right then. Nick knows that he shouldn't mock the afflicted but he really doesn't seem to be in control of his mouth.

Dizzy, David turns towards Nick, shoving him back against the wall and then he is kissing the Lib Dem, hard. Nick's mouth is luscious and tastes just as good as he knew it would. He feels Nick's mouth open to his, sweet and yielding, as the other man clings to him, answering the authoritarian demands of his kiss without hesitation.

Nick moans. God the man can kiss, with the same single-mindedness he brings to his politics. Nick gets with the programme, opening his mouth to the Prime Ministerial tongue. So good. He pulls David closer.

Instinctively David's knee nudges between Nick's legs and he hears his deputy moan softly. He can feel himself growing hard.

Nick feels want sweep over him, taking away what remains of his breath, and yet...

"No!" he whispers. This isn't right. Not when David had looked so lost at the revelation of their earlier debauchery. This isn't what he wants either - it is being imposed on them by whoever had launched the attack against them. And anyway, Nick Clegg isn't a man to settle for second best - he would want any lover to choose him for himself, not for an imposed and undignified biological imperative!

"No!" he says again, pushing against David's chest. "No. Fight it. We can't let it take us again." Nick sounds wrecked and needy and on the edge of losing control. The push becomes more urgent; more desperate. "Please... David."

David knows Nick is right. No matter how much he wants to go back to that soul-deep place where heat and pleasure mingle with warmth and comfort. When has he ever felt anything sexual for the leader of another party - the Lib Dems? Never! This is wrong on so many levels, but it's so very difficult to pull away.

Duty triumphs in the end. He gives a low sob, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails are driven into his palms. The pain helps. Slowly, the need recedes back into the dark place where his animal desires hide. Now he knows that one of his deepest, darkest desires is to have his wicked way with Nick Clegg. Again. And again. And again.Not that he remembers the first time, but if that kiss is any indication, Nick Clegg is more dangerous to him than any terrorist threat could ever be. Every (upright, Conservative, straight) part of him should be repulsed at the thought of kissing Nick, but it isn't.

It's so hard to step away, but he does, shaking his head to try and clear it. He knows this behaviour is abnormal. He doesn't like men that way. He doesn't know where these impulses are coming from. It's like some animal part of him is trying to claw its way out, and he hates the feeling of being out of control. He has to get out of here, away from temptation, and the dangers of those deadly little dust motes that make you do things you'll regret later. And the even more deadly (to his career and marriage) promise of Nick Clegg's body hard against his.

The need for fresh air takes over and he welcomes it, making himself stumble towards the nearest exit. He is distantly aware of Nick following him, but that's too dangerous to think about so he avoids looking at him. Then they are out into the cool evening air and on the wrong side of a police cordon...


	2. Chapter 2

This is turning into one hell of a day. David Cameron glares at the doctor who has just collected the umpteenth vial of blood from his arm and flexes the offending limb with a sigh. His stomach is still churning because of various foul concoctions he has been made to drink. The LibDem-yellow paper suit he's wearing doesn't improve his mood one little bit.

“Well at least we’re clean!” That little pearl of wisdom earns Nick Clegg a scowl, because they've just been through decontamination and every square inch of his body has been scrubbed at least three dozen times. “I swear, they even scrubbed inside my nostrils, though where they found a brush that size beats me.” Nick talks a lot when he's nervous. It's quite irritating. They can't meet each others' eyes, not just because of their naked adventures, but also because of that kiss. It lies between them like a barricade, because he doesn't really remember the rest, but he definitely remembers that.

At least no-one has been tactless enough to mention the state the two of them are in – David caught sight of his own reflection in the washroom ten minutes ago and if Nick looks wrecked, well he himself looks, well… debauched was the word that comes to mind. Thoroughly and completely debauched. Officially, he and Clegg are "indisposed."

The door opens and the head of the security services enters, followed by a couple of boffins in white coats. About time.  
“So. What can you tell me about this attack?” David queries his advisors. His anger has been building for hours and it is obvious in his tone. “The protocols we have in place say that there should have been men in NBC suits in the House to help our people.”

“The suits failed!” The first doctor admits in some considerable embarrassment. “The toxin remains unidentified, but we now know that its units are so small they can get through the filters on our respirators. Plus it’s incredibly potent. We believe that only one or two units are needed to trigger significant biological symptoms.” He rubs his chin uneasily.

“We lost contact with every one of the first team we sent into Parliament within three minutes. When we lost the second team we had to pull back and reassess. We eventually sent for special Level 4 contamination suits from Porton Down; the ones with their own oxygen supplies, but by then two hours had passed. The contaminant was all over the building and everyone still inside was hopelessly compromised.”

“We’re working our way through the building,” the second doctor adds. “But as your own example shows, the symptoms of the toxin seem to be abating somewhat.”

“How many people were affected?” David asks the security chief. He deliberately isn't looking at Nick.

“At the last count, over three hundred and twenty,” he says. “Including ancillary staff, researchers and the like. We’ve found and decontaminated about half of those so far, but it isn’t easy when some of them are so out of their heads that they try to attack us or… other things,” he finishes lamely. No-one is mentioning the word, "sex," which would be quite humorous under different circumstances.

David is quite happy not to go there either.

“Any leads on the perpetrators?” he asks.

“No-one’s claimed responsibility, and there are no obvious leads so far,” the chief admits. “We’re profiling all the visitors on record but we haven’t got a full list of members’ guests yet.”

“What’s happened to the um... video footage from the House?” Nick speaks up for the first time.

“We’re examining it, Mr. Clegg.” Somehow the chief manages to make Nick’s name into an insult. “But I’m sure you can appreciate what a delicate matter this is. That tape shows the helpless victims of a terrorist attack at their most vulnerable moments. Not something we want in the public domain, sir.”  
“Oh damn.” Nick gives a theatrical sigh. “I really wanted to know who Ed Miliband ended up with.” David isn't the only one who gives him a dark look.

*

_Day 2 after the attack_

They are meeting in an anonymous Whitehall office building because of the inevitable security concerns, these days. The attack was two days ago and the consequences to the many human beings caught in the attack are still being evaluated. It's already clear that there have been some deaths by violence, and that the whole of Parliament is hugely contaminated by the toxin - it will take months to decontaminate all of those offices and corridors. The perpetrators remain unknown. George Osborne was one of the few government ministers who hadn't been in the House that day, and he's been in temporary charge of the Government whilst David and Nick and many others were "indisposed."

David and Nick are the first to arrive this morning. Nick finds himself facing the PM across the conference table, a position he has always considered confrontational rather than collaborative. It's the first time they have met since the aftermath of the attack - David has been in security meetings whilst Nick has been checking that the injured have all they need - and Nick bites his lip as he studies his leader. David is still finding it difficult to look at him. Uptight bloody Conservative!

David finally bites the bullet and meets his eyes at last. Nick can't help but grin a little at him - after all, he has seen more of David than most and let's face it, seeing the bare arse of the Prime Minister kind of colours your view of your glorious leader. He wishes he could remember more - hey, Liberal - but he doesn't.

At his grin, David goes red, God help him, his hand going to cover his chin in a gesture of Cameron embarrassment, but he doesn't drop his gaze. Instead, his eyes challenge Nick and damned if the LibDem doesn't feel a thrill of arousal at that moment, because being under a strong leader is apparently one of his sexual quirks. A surprise to him, but not unwelcome because - again - Liberal. Perhaps it's fortunate that the rest of the cabinet start to arrive.

David too, is finding today a trial. The first thing he sees when he sits down at the damn table is the LibDem leader biting his lip in that familiar Clegg way, and he irresistibly remembers being on top of Nick, the other man's body warm and yielding beneath him, when he bites his lip and tells David that they've just slept together. Now that small habit will be forever associated with sex in his mind. Damn Clegg! David can tell that the LibDem leader is thinking about the same thing that he is, so the urge to wipe the smile off that pretty face is strong.

The other cabinet ministers file in, led by George, who is insufferable, as usual. He smirks at Nick who pretends not to notice. Things go well until about half way through the meeting when Nick shifts uncomfortably on the hard metal chair and makes a small sound of discomfort. George is sharp as a scalpel; he knows what went on in the attack and he puts two and two together immediately. "Cleggover," he says insultingly. Nick ignores him, because he knows George is just trying to get a rise out of him; the man is dying to know more about Nick's indiscretions. David is pretending not to notice, the bastard and hasn't this day turned absolutely bloody perfect.

*

_Day 7 after the attack_

They aren't talking about it. The "big fucking elephant" in the room, Nick thinks sourly. The week has gone from bad to worse. Today typifies the PM's head in the sand attitude to what had happened between them. David is so bloody repressed that he can't even acknowledge his deputy when they pass in the corridors of power. He just lowers his head and hurries past, as the LibDem's friendly greeting dies on his lips. And during Prime Minister's Question Time, he makes a huge effort not to touch Nick. Somehow, George, the prick, ends up sitting between them, and gives him a smirk which is just short of insulting. George knows that something is going on here, but he hasn't quite figured it out yet. He is however, quite happy to help the PM stir up trouble with the LibDems.

Resentfully, Nick stares across the table at David but then his anger starts to fade. David looks tired. There are big circles under his eyes and he seems more jumpy than usual. Nick can understand that. He hasn't been sleeping well himself and when he does, his nights are restless, his dreams filled with confusing fragments of memory from the attack. The worst thing is the role David plays in those dreams, leaving him yearning and unfulfilled when he wakes.

... When he dreams, he's face down and someone is behind him, pushing into him, hitting that sweet spot inside him, just so. It's spectacularly good and he finds himself spreading his legs, urging the other to go faster, harder. David's fingers are over his, strong and supportive. They hold onto each other. He's so close to the edge...

Nick always wakes just before his body finds what it needs. Miserable, he has taken to sleeping in the spare bedroom and he can tell that Miriam's patience with him is at last wearing thin. She has tried comforting him, but when her embrace turns intimate, things rapidly go downhill, much like his erection.

He can't bear the pity in her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

_Day 29 after the attack_

Parliament is a hotbed of gossip, and this week, the hottest topic is the separation of Nick Clegg and his long-time girlfriend, Miriam. They had a furious public quarrel at a LibDem dinner, mostly in passionate Spanish, and David is reliably informed that the x rated translation involved much discussion of his sexual inadequacies, his stupid party and his ancestry, in no particular order. George is predictably happy to hear all of this and has already made a few barbed references to the affair in Cabinet.

David sighs. He'll have to step in as peacemaker if that bloody fool doesn't keep his mouth shut and he could really do without this sort of crap, though he ruefully acknowledges that his own avoidance of Clegg hasn't helped Coalition unity. David has his own problems. His nerves are frayed and he isn't sleeping well; all of his colleagues have noticed that his temper is short these days.

He had an argument with Sam last night. She wants him to take some time off, go to Chequers perhaps, to relax, but he's brushed aside her suggestion. The trouble is, time alone with her is the last thing he wants right now. The thought of her touch isn't just unwelcome; unaccountably, it makes him feel physically sick.

He remembers how last night, in bed, her arms had wound around him, knowing exactly how to give him pleasure, but when her fingers begin to stroke, slow and certain across his penis, nausea had assailed him, its intensity taking him by surprise. He remembers too, the look of consternation on her perfect face as he runs from her and throws up noisily in the bathroom. It isn't the first time he has felt revulsion at her touch in recent days, but lately, the problem seems to be getting worse. He ends up in the spare room with a bottle of whiskey for company, trying not to feel as though the world is falling apart.

His head aches this morning, with a well-deserved hangover and even his staff have noticed something is wrong, because he's seen them exchange concerned glances more than once. Even George Osborne has looked askance at his friend before shaking his head sadly. No surprise there – Sam talks quite regularly with other Conservative wives so the rumours are probably flying round already about their falling out. He understands exactly what misery bloody Clegg has been going through.

They go through the day’s business in some detail. The latest tax cuts are high on the agenda, followed by the latest Euro crisis and another teachers’ strike - for pension rights, this time. The LibDems are particularly vocal on that one!

Nick looks as tired as he is – he's obviously been working hard on pensions – but he's passionate about the issue and David even perks up a little in their debates. George though, takes the opportunity to have another little dig at Nick, asking him if he met any pretty girls yesterday, when he knows Nick was touring a retirement home.

"Just shut the fuck up, George!" David snarls, and knows at once that he has overstepped the bounds. George mercifully does as he's told, but David knows there'll be hell to pay later. They think he's gone out of his mind, and maybe he has. They get through the rest of the business quickly. David’s heart sinks though, when the other cabinet members file out, leaving him alone with Nick. As the unpopular one, he's been delegated the job of managing the PM's hissy fit.

“Nobody’s telling you this, but you look like shit!” Nick doesn’t hold back. “David… Maybe you need a break?”

“Since when was it your business?” The PM snaps. “Or do you just want a turn at my job?”

Nick glares, opening his mouth to snap something rude, then seems to recall who he's addressing. He sighs. “Look. I know this doctor…” He pulls a card out of his jacket. “If you need to see someone… He’s very discrete…” He holds out the card, and almost by reflex, David reaches out to take it. Their fingers brush together; the first time they have touched in nearly a month.

Fire! Nick’s touch sends a searing heat flooding through him like nothing he has ever experienced before. A warmth that floods into him, burning away some of that terrible despair that has been growing inside him. He freezes, his mouth open, staring at his deputy as that strange almost electric sensation flows through him. He knows Nick feels it too, because his deputy has frozen too, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Neither of them move.

“Oh hell!” Nick breathes. Then he's jerking his hand away; backing away…

“Wait!” David says, “Tell me I didn’t just imagine that.”

“It was real,” Nick admits. He looks thoroughly freaked out. “I need to think about this..." David nods and watches his deputy leave with a deep sense of puzzlement. He drops his head into his hands and tries to think through what has just happened, but all he can process right now is that for just a moment, he felt incomparably better.

The door opens again. “Clegg gone?” William inquires, and advances into the cabinet room at David’s nod. He's brandishing a report. “Good. I didn’t want him to see this, given the LibDem attitude towards military secrecy.” He opens the report. “Results of the analysis on the terrorist toxin!”

“Give me the edited highlights – I’ll read the full report later,” David says tiredly. William shrugs.

“Basically, it’s a super-virus. Small. Easy to manufacture. Very potent. We sent a DNA analysis to the World Health Organisation and the Americans have finally admitted that it’s one of theirs. Something a rogue researcher cooked up in one of their labs. You want to hear all about the cool side effects?”

“Later…” David’s head is aching again. “Thanks William,” he says in dismissal. The other man leaves and he's alone with his thoughts once again.

*

Report to Senate Investigative Committee making enquiries about the so called, "Sex virus"

This virus has a level four biohazard rating due to its potency, the aggression it causes in exposed persons under certain circumstances, and the fact that it has no known cure. It should be treated accordingly.

**Sequence of Infection: Stage 1**  
Within moments of the virus entering the bloodstream, generally through transmission of an airborne particle, it is carried to the brain in the blood. Immediately, it targets the hypothalamus and the medial pre-optic areas, which are associated with human sexual and emotional behaviour. An immediate sign of this infection is the characteristic huge dilation of the subject’s pupils. By a mechanism we do not understand, this acts as a signal to another infected individual of sexual receptiveness.

**Sequence of Infection: Stage 2**  
Intense Sexual activity will take place for periods of two to six hours, depending on the fitness level of the individual. Males show particularly strong responses to infection and previous sexual inclinations or partnerships appear irrelevant... There may be displays of aggression and males may fight to establish their right to mate...

*

_Day 36 after the attack_

She's finally left. He can’t really blame Sam– not when he's unable to bear her touch any more. That last time was the worst. Just a hand on his bare arm, as he lies in bed and the nausea rises up inside him, unstoppable; incomprehensible. This time, in his revulsion, he shoves her away from him, hard, with enough force to bruise her. The look of betrayal she gives him hurts so much – and yesterday she had packed a bag and left.

He has never felt so alone, his only companion last night being a bottle of very good scotch. Yet somehow, no matter how many glasses he drinks it never seems to touch the coldness that seems to lurk inside him. He thinks he's fraying at the edges. His eyes are red and he as he stares dully round the Cabinet Office, he feels utterly miserable on all counts.

David's not doing well politically either, and in the last PMQ's, Ed Miliband scored on nearly every point. It was a bloodbath. They're due a rematch today on Lords reform, then they're debating Scottish issues. George still isn't talking to him and Vince Cable's stony silence is telling. Nick frowns, then seems to come to a decision - he murmurs something in Cable's ear, the older man nods, then they're all filing out except Clegg, whose blue eyes are filled with concern. It's a measure of how far he's fallen, that he doesn't object to the managing of his affairs. Nick has once again been elected to the unpopular role.

Nick is worried by what he sees. David seems to be falling apart and he really has to get his act together, because if Nick has to take over, he'll break up the Coalition in days, simply because he'll punch out bloody Osborne. David holds the Coalition together and yet nothing seems to get through his misery, these days. They've all heard about his troubles with Sam.

David stares at him, then drops his head into his hands . "Get out, Clegg." His voice is muffled, but Nick can hear the despair in his voice. He knows all about that so without thought, more on instinct, he reaches out his hand and squeezes the Prime Minister's shoulder. He doesn't expect much, still less hope, but his expectations are confounded. The familiar heat flares along his arm like before, but this time he's ready for it. Grasping the nettle, he thinks ruefully. Or should that be the bloody elephant? They never did talk about the last time they touched.

David gasps, and stares at Nick in astonishment. They've been avoiding each other for so long that for the other man to deliberately move into his personal space and touch him is a shock. And yet, the heat that floods through him feels unexpectedly good, and he knows that the concern Nick feels is real. Would it be so bad to let someone in? Nick knows how to keep his mouth shut otherwise their liaison would have been trumpeted throughout Westminster.

He stands, studying Nick who looks as though he has poked a bear with a stick and is about to be devoured. He really should know better. David can't help but grin; the first time he's felt his mood lift in a very long time. He can't explain it, but when Nick touches him, it feels indescribably good somewhere down deep inside him. It isn't entirely sexual, though there is an undeniable frisson between them. No, this comes from that animal place where need and want live.

Something sparks in Nick's eyes when David grins at him. Relief perhaps, or maybe something else just as fucked up as the emotion David feels. David doesn't stop to analyse what he sees. He's always been a doer rather than a thinker when it comes down to it so what he does is take action. He takes the LibDem leader in his arms and kisses him. He doesn't know or care where the impulse comes from, just that it is absolutely and completely right. This was what he's been missing for so long. This is as it should be.

Nick goes in one instant from concerned friend to something entirely different. The kiss is totally unexpected, and as with everything else the Prime Minister does, it's bloody good. This isn't what he thought he'd be doing with his morning, but as his lips part and David's tongue duels with his, he realises that there is no other place in Westminster or indeed the world that he wants to be. He hears himself make a small moan and if his hands are clutching at David, well perhaps it's because his knees go weak and he wants more and harder and deeper and isn't that an entirely inappropriate set of thoughts for a Deputy Prime Minister to have for his leader.

He knows that if he doesn't stop soon, he'll be in deep trouble, because he wants more and they're in the middle of the Cabinet Room and someone could walk in at any moment. "Oh God..." he whispers. "You have to stop..." There are echoes of the last time they kissed. He pushes David away reluctantly. Somehow, they seem to have gone from discomfort with each other to outright lust in the space of a few heartbeats.

Nick looks wrecked, which David thinks is a good look on him. But this is really not the place. Not if they're going to explore this strange development further. Is this what's been building between them for weeks? A crackling sexual tension that he's being trying to deny, but also that strange, new connection. He wishes he knew, but he feels like he's Alice in Wonderland falling down the rabbit hole. He blushes slightly because he'd never noticed the double entendre in that particular metaphor and really, the fact that he wants to shag the leader of the LibDems should be so much more disturbing for a bloody Conservative leader.

He doesn't quite understand it but remarkably, all of the despair and negativity he was feeling seem to have been banished. He's slowly beginning to realise that Nick's touch satisfies something inside him that nothing else can match. Their fingers are tangled together, though he doesn't remember how; the only part of them still touching.

"I need time to think," David says, which Nick can totally understand. Been there... “Text me later!” Nick frowns and gestures vaguely in the direction of the House. “After the Scotland debate.” He exits, and David sighs because already the day seems darker and gloomier without him.


	4. Chapter 4

He's alone again tonight with only a bottle of scotch for company. Dutch courage? He pours himself another glass – his third, but who's counting – and picks up his cellphone to text Nick. All day, he's been trying to decide what to say to Nick but his mind is no clearer now than it was this morning when they kissed. The roller-coaster of his emotions is exhausting, but at least there's a degree of hope tonight.

He types: How was the debate? Well that was lame. Still, it breaks the ice.

His phone beeps: Okay. Polls have us 7pts above Labour. David grins. The Lib Dems are pretty determined to win on their latest “issue.” His phone beeps again: You ok? Any more weirdness? Well that's one way to describe it.

He types back: No. Any theories? Stupid question but maybe Nick can help.

The reply comes almost immediately: Felt like day of terrorist attack. Heat. Lust. He smiles briefly at the lust comment, then freezes as the words sink in. Oh hell. Why hasn’t he made that connection before? What had Hague to say the other day about the toxin's side effects?

He hurriedly sends: Shit! Shit. Shit. Shit. Gotta go. Secret report to read.

The reply comes back within seconds, dripping with sarcasm: You’re welcome.

David can almost see “asshole” deleted from the end of the text. He glares at the phone then slides it back into his pocket and begins to search through the night’s red boxes for the report. He begins to read and feels the blood drain from his face as the implications become clear. It explains so much, though the American Government has censored much of its data and other parts of the report are speculative at best. It reads like science fiction, with its final conclusion.

No longer theory; he can testify to its truth. He understands now why he feels so much better when Nick is around; why he's beginning to want more; why Sam has left him. He feels so damned confused. The report slides from his fingers, scattering sheets across the floor. He doesn’t even notice, as he buries his face in his hands.

*

Report to Senate Investigative Committee making enquiries about the so called, "Sex virus"

**Sequence of Infection: Stage 3**  
After coital activity is concluded, both partners having exchanged bodily fluids, deep sleep follows. We theorise that this is the period in which pair bonding occurs, since widespread synaptic repatterning has been observed, and tests have shown that modified sections of virus DNA are incorporated into the individual’s own genetic sequence. The Sex virus is certainly not the first infection in history to cause large scale genetic mutation. The influenza pandemic of 1918 has left sequences in our DNA that can still be detected today.

**Sequence of Infection: Stage 4**  
The pair bonding is complete and the infection has run its course. Paired individuals become intensely emotionally dependent on each other, display increased sexual responsiveness to each other and strong negative responses to any other individual who threatens their bond. Studies have shown that sexual arousal now only occurs within the pair bonding and separated individuals seldom thrive, often becoming pathologically aggressive or suicidal. Pair-bonding appears to be irreversible and permanent in infected individuals.

*

Nick is definitely pissed off. One hundred percent. If ever there is someone guaranteed to frustrate and annoy him in equal measure, it's David Cameron. Nick has to admit he's curious about the alleged Prime Ministerial secrets, but more than that, he's beginning to feel uneasy. Something feels wrong tonight, and the longer he waits, the worse the feeling gets. He shivers. Despite his mistrust of all things unexplained, every instinct is yelling at him to act.

Swearing under his breath, Nick texts David: Anything interesting to tell me?

Maybe he's asleep. There isn't an immediate response, but just when he's given up on getting a reply tonight, his phone chimes and the message he receives is stark and desperate: Need you.

He runs. It's a fairly short distance between the PM's flat and his own so it takes moments to reach David's flat. Then he's inside and hurrying into the living room. David is sprawled on the sofa, the empty whisky bottle at his side. He looks up at Nick and the LibDem's breath catches at the raw misery in his friend's eyes. "Oh hell. What have you done? Did you drink the whole bottle?"

"No... Spilled most of it..." David admits. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he stares dully into space. "You don't know... Fucking Americans... What they've done... " A sob. "My family is gone forever. She's never coming back!" It was as if saying it aloud made the sentence come true so he lets the sobs come again.

He doesn't have to think about it. Without hesitation, Nick pulls the sobbing man towards him and wraps his arms around the PM. He doesn't know what's finally tipped David over the edge, but it's been coming for days. At least tonight, he's there for him. He feels David clutch at him, pulling him closer and burying his face against Nick's shoulder as the other man murmurs comforting words in his ears. The heat flooding through them both isn't a surprise this time but a comfort.

*

_Day 37 after the attack_

Nick wakes, and immediately feels a sense of deja vu, because once more he has David Cameron lying more or less on top of him. Early morning light is filtering into the room. They're lying on David's couch, and at some point last night, held by Nick, the other man had fallen asleep. His head is resting on Nick's shoulder. Sleeping, he looks younger and less stressed, and irresistibly, Nick runs his fingers through Cameron's hair. He's always wanted to, because David's grooming is usually impeccable, and it feels wonderfully treasonous to ruffle it a little. It feels soft against his fingers, almost sensuous, and oh he's really in deep now, because he likes how it feels entirely too much for his own good.

In fact, just being with this man seems to be good for him as he managed to sleep through the night without nightmares - a minor miracle - and he feels rested, cramped couch notwithstanding. And the truth is, they're bloody good together.

"Don't mess with the hair, Clegg..." David murmurs sleepily. Nick laughs. David opens his eyes and studies his companion; his eyes are a little bloodshot, but for someone who was breaking apart last night, he looks remarkably better. He studies Nick for a few minutes and seems to make a decision. Then he's moving up, slow and deliberate, until he's directly over Nick. Nick feels his breath quicken. David looks almost predatory - he's a man who knows what he wants - and kisses him. By the time he finishes what becomes another of those duels, Nick is panting and he knows he is lost. Then they're pulling at each others' clothes, touching each other, and David's mouth moves across his skin, over his neck, trailing fire. Actually licking him... Biting too. A light pressure of his teeth against Nick's skin, not breaking it, but arousing as hell. "You want me to stop?" David asks with a smile.

"Bastard," Nick pants. He's hard and he knows that David is too. They kiss again, slow and lazy and intense. He moves, and David presses closer, in between his legs now, and his impulse is to instinctively move against the other man, creating delicious friction. David gets with the programme and it doesn't matter that they've still got half their clothes on because it's so good and so right and he's going to come, just from the way they're in motion against each other. He moans. The fingers of David's left hand are tangled with his right and he arches upward, clutching them tightly as his climax rolls over him, heat and fire and perfection all mingled together.

"Christ, Clegg..." David has never seen anything so hot. Nick's body moving against his is driving him out of his mind, and he's right on the edge just from kissing and making out with the man. Then he's coming with a cry, shuddering with the force of his orgasm, gripping Nick's fingers tight.

David lies, feeling his heart slow and his breath steady and looks into Nick's so-blue eyes. Neither of them speak. He chose this, and he isn't regretting it one little bit. What he sees in Nick's eyes scares him a little, because really, he shouldn't know that his LibDem deputy is falling in love with him and he thinks that he might feel the same way. He sighs. His life is so fucked up, plus he has just had messy sex with a Liberal Democrat on his couch with most of his clothes on so he's going to be damned sticky as well. A little voice whispers in his head - if he can come from just a few kisses and a little friction with this man, how amazing will the sex be when they're finally in bed together? He is surprised by how much he wants to find out.

He sits up, and he's right, these clothes are a disgrace. Nick looks down at his own clothes with a scowl, when he notices the direction of David's gaze. "Just how..." Nick says, "...am I going to get back to my flat with my clothes stained like this?

David laughs, and because he can, he kisses Nick again. "Well, you could always borrow something from my wardrobe."

*

"What the hell did you say to him?" William says as David plunges into the cabinet papers like a demon, barking out instructions and highlighting points of scrutiny with a dynamism and energy that puts the rest of his colleagues to shame. He's on top form and his mind is sharp as a tack. He hasn't put such energy or enthusiasm into his work for months, and indeed he looks so much better than yesterday, which is an endorsement, Nick thinks, for the healing power of sex.

Nick is trying not to meet David's eyes because he just knows he'll grin and maybe even blush and really, who wants to see the LibDem Party leader all doe-eyed over the Conservative Party leader. So he gets on with his work, though perhaps he smiles more than usual. George, as ever on the lookout for LibDem weakness, zeros in on Nick, puts his head to one side as he studies the Deputy Prime Minister, and winks suggestively.

"Gotten laid lately, Cleggy?"

"More than you, Georgy," he retorts and he's just going to open his mouth and probably put his foot in it when Vince presses a warning hand to his shoulder. He subsides, knowing that Vince is a lot wiser than he is, and indeed, after the cabinet meeting, Vince seeks him out.

"I don't know what's been going on, and I don't want to know," he says. Nick pretends ignorance and Vince jerks a thumb in the direction of the PM. "You and Cameron." Nick gives a start. Vince continues, "Do you really think no-one has noticed the way you avoid looking at each other, and the way his mood always gets better when you're around?" He shakes his head. "Like I said, I don't want to know; that way I can say it's just a damned rumour. Even if you do look bloody guilty right now... Just don't get caught doing something stupid!"

He shakes his head in exasperation. "And get rid of that bloody tie of Cameron's that you're wearing..."


	5. Chapter 5

_Day 40 after the attack_

This is a bloody date, Nick thinks, as David pours out the wine. Candles and soft music, good food, cooked by David himself, and a nice Chianti to round things off. They are in his flat and it is the first time they've been alone together since that morning. Nick has been addressing his party conference in Scotland, and Dave has been kicking Miliband round Westminster over the banking crisis and lack of gold reserves. Fun all round, but tonight is now all theirs. He shivers, not wanting to admit how nervous he is, but there's anticipation too.

They finish their meal and go over to the sofa. David sprawls across it, apparently relaxed, a glass of wine in his hand. However, there is a slight flush to his face which suggests that perhaps he isn't as nonchalant as he pretends to be. From where Nick's sitting, he's facing the Prime Minister and he's becoming aware that there's an awkwardness between them.

During the meal, they've talked about their work, the food and what's going to happen tomorrow in Westminster, but David seems to have run out of things to say. He's watching Nick though.

Nick could swear that David is embarrassed right now. "Is everything all right?" he asks.

"This is bloody strange!" David says. "I mean, being with you socially. We've never really moved in the same circles after work. I mean, you're a LibDem. You get off on things like proportional representation and taxes for the rich and stuff like that..."

"Thanks a lot!" Nick said wryly. "Are you saying you want me to leave?"

"No! I... It's just that it's bloody weird trying to seduce you into my bed. You're... Well..." The normally unflappable Prime Minister is struggling for words. He has gone bright red, and Nick realises why.

"You mean I'm a man?" David nods, too embarrassed by now to answer. Nick grins widely. "We've already slept together!"

"That just sort of happened," David says. "I don't usually try to seduce the man sitting opposite me," he snaps. His head is lowered, and his gone brick-red with embarrassment and Nick begins to get an inkling of the problem.

"Um... how many men have you ever slept with?" he asks, not without some trepidation.

"Christ, Nick!" David explodes. "What kind of a question is that? I've never been interested in men..." His eyes mirror his confusion. "Not until I found myself waking up on top of you... You're the only one I've ever wanted like that..."

Nick notes absently that he's wearing those black designer jeans that Nick loves and a white shirt, and he looks almost edible.

"You want me?" Nick focuses on what's important.

"God. Yes, damn you. Every time I look at you. Every minute of the day. It's just that I've never... Except that one time when we were out of our minds and I can't bloody remember it!" His frustration is obvious.

"I have," Nick admits. "Slept with men, I mean." David's eyes go wide at this statement. It's quite an admission to make to a political rival, and a sign of Nick's trust in him. "Anyway, you did okay the other day... Believe me. I wasn't complaining."

"Oh?" David looks pleased. "So... You've had a bit of experience in this area..." There's a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "That's interesting."

"Isn't it," Nick says. He moves closer and then he's on his knees in front of David, and his hands are sliding along those firm, black clad thighs. "Did I ever tell you how good you look in these jeans, Mr Prime Minister?" His fingers trace along the seams. By now, David has a noticeable bulge at his crotch, his long legs have fallen open and Nick has him exactly where he wants him. Nick moves up between his legs and then he's pulling down the Prime Minister's zipper. His erect cock springs free.  
"No underwear, David - that's decadent," he says.

"I was hoping to get lucky." David sounds hoarse. He's looking down at Nick, on his knees in front of him and it's obvious how much the view is turning him on. Nick doesn't mind. He's done this before and the power dynamics aren't exactly what you might think. He watches David closely as he goes down, and when he finally applies his tongue to the swollen head of David's cock, he knows exactly who's in control of the situation.

He loves the sight of David losing control. He loves the feel of David hands tangling in his hair; his moans; the taste of him, and finally, that little hitch of his breath, followed by the hot, salty flood of his semen as he whimpers Nick's name. So Nick is almost purring when he finally lifts his head and enjoys the view of David Cameron sprawled across his couch, spent and wanton and as hot as hell.

David has never dreamed that Nick would get down on his knees and give him a spectacularly good blow job. Idealistic, moral Nick Clegg, who he and his advisers used to call "Mr Clean," except that Nick isn't anyone's stereotype and he certainly isn't what David expected. He knows intellectually that his desire for this man could just be a biological response caused by some damn virus, but he has to admit, he doesn't give a damn right now.

Because he can, and because he loves to, David kisses Nick. He can taste himself in Nick's mouth and, well, that isn't so bad, is it, and he really shouldn't be surprised how much he wants to throw him down on the bed and ravish him. Besides, he can see from the state of Nick that a proposition like that might not be out of the question. God, he looks so needy.

"Bed. Now!" he says and Nick tilts his head to one side and grins, just so that David knows that he isn't really in charge of the situation at all, but Nick is willing to play along.

He really doesn't know what he was worried about, because once they're in bed, and he starts to kiss the Deputy Prime Minister, any apprehension he might have about taking a man into his bed disappears. It's like he's got a whole new Wonderland to explore. He starts with another of those spectacular kisses, irresistibly biting Nick's lower lip gently, because Nick seems to love that. He remembers those damned nipples and he kisses his way down to them and Nick arches off the bed with a cry when he applies his mouth, just so. Hmm. Sensitive. He'll have to remember that. Nick's head has fallen back and he is biting his lip in concentration; trying not to lose all control.

David's on a roll now and his head dips lower, beneath the sheets, heading south. He wants to know what Nick tastes like; his curiosity is almost overwhelming. Besides, he can do anything that Nick Clegg can!

"You don't have to..." Nick gasps when he divines David's intent. The Prime Minister chuckles and his hand is round the base of Nick's hard shaft even as he experimentally swipes across the slit with his tongue. Nick gasps, and his fingers tangle irresistibly in David's hair as he hesitantly opens his mouth and takes the head of Nick's shaft into his mouth. He sucks experimentally and is rewarded with one of those moans he loved so much. It's an incredibly erotic sound. David experimentally sucks and Nick actually whimpers. Oh yes, this is a promising start. He continues and is rewarded by Nick who begins to babble. "God yes... I need... David. Please... Oh please..."

He loves hearing Nick lose all control, and knows from the way Nick's hands are clutching him that he's close to the edge. He freezes momentarily - what the hell is he doing? He's never sucked a man off before. He's never dreamed that he would find it so easy. Then Nick gives a needy little moan and he feels the joy bubbling up inside him. He cares for this man, more than he's ever dreamed possible. Of course he wants to please him. He goes down on Nick, taking him in as deep as he could manage and finishes his task. Nick screams and then come is flooding into his mouth. That's a little too strange and he doesn't manage to swallow it but he's still damned pleased with himself. Hell, yes.

Nick is sprawled beneath him, spent and wanton and inviting, and he wonders what it'd be like to make love to him; to be inside him fully, and to hear what sounds he'll make and to look into those blue eyes when he comes. The night is young.

Nick lies there, content to hold on to David, still breathing deeply, feeling his heartbeat begin to slow. He can't believe that David just sucked him off, but it was pretty spectacular and the man is undoubtedly a fast learner. Then there is a movement to his left and he turns his head and finds himself staring directly into Samantha Cameron's wide, shocked eyes. Her hand is pressing over her mouth as if she is trying to stop herself from screaming.

Of all the moments in his life for the curse of Clegg to strike, this has to be one of the worst. He lies there frozen, because he can't imagine what he can do to make this situation any less fucked up. The moment stretches on and then David emerges from under the sheets, grinning like a cat that got the canary, so pleased with himself, the bloody fool. He's quick, and one look at Nick's face tells him that something is terribly wrong. He turns in the direction Nick is looking in and the colour drains from his face.

"Oh my God. Sam..."

She spins around with a sob and flees into the other room. David jumps out of bed, grabs a sheet and wraps it around him - not that it hides the love bites Nick has left on his chest - and rushes after her. He avoids looking at his deputy, which really hurts more than Nick believed it could, and almost immediately, he hears the sound of raised voices from the other room. Samantha sounds hysterical, and who could blame her - it's what any woman would feel if she found her husband in bed with somebody else, committing adultery. Worse still in the eyes of a diehard Conservative wife, it was with a man. The fact that it's him is icing on the cake.

He fumbles with the his clothes and dresses quickly. Probably the best thing he could do right now is to get out of here. Silence has fallen next door and he hopes they haven't killed each other. Hesitantly, he opens the door and they both look at him. Samantha is crying and David just looks lost; shell-shocked. Nick wants to hold him, but he knows it isn't going to happen.

"You'd better go," David says sadly. No offer to call him later. No words of reassurance. Just complete misery. Nick wants to say something, anything, to make the situation better but at this point words fail him and it's so bloody unfair because they'd just found each other...

He flees into the night, and if he finds himself crying, it's because he knows what he's lost.


	6. Chapter 6

_Day 41_

Nick knows he looks like shit this morning because at least three of his LibDem colleagues come up to him and ask him if he's okay which he doesn't really know how to answer. If he says no, he's telling the truth but then he'd have to explain himself. If he says yes, it's a bloody lie and no one believes it anyway, so in the end he just shrugs. Danny pities him and whispers to them to leave him alone.

Sitting there, shuffling the morning's crop of pointless, bureaucratic documents and files, he has never felt so alone. He could probably talk to Vince later and have a sympathetic hearing but he doesn't want to talk about the pain inside him because it hurts more than he ever believed it could.

They're waiting for the Prime Minister to arrive which is normally dead on the hour, but unexpectedly the time stretches when he should arrive... 10 minutes late... 15 minutes... Tongues are starting to wag because David is always on time. Even when he was depressed, he wasn't late. In fact, he considers it a cardinal sin.

When he finally arrives, he is accompanied by one of the best of the high-powered government lawyers and he's over half an hour late. There is immediate speculation among members of the Cabinet; Nick can hear shocked whispering from them. They all fall silent for the Prime Minister as he takes his seat. He looks pale, but determined. Very statesmanlike.

"I have a short statement to make," he says, in a tone of utmost seriousness. "My wife Samantha and I have agreed that we wish to divorce. I have no plans to contest this and I will fully accede to all of her lawyers' demands. This is a matter of privacy between my wife and myself and I hope you will respect that." He sighs, and rubs his forehead tiredly. "I'm sorry. The press are going to be all over this one. I don't expect I'll come out of this in a good light. I'd appreciate any thing you can do by way of damage limitation."

Nick can tell they're all stunned by the news, (especially the no-contest bit which makes David sound so guilty). Him, not so much. The LibDems are all whispering to each other about what it means and how they can turn this to their advantage. The Conservatives, on the other hand, are showing a mixture of sympathy for David from his friends and stony-faced disapproval from the more traditional members of the Cabinet. Teresa in particular, looks as though she has taken a big bite out of a lemon. It's very noticeable to Nick that Vince is pretending he's not there, which is probably the best hint he's going to give Nick to keep his mouth shut.

David looks round the Cabinet bleakly and his eyes meet Nick's. There is deep misery there, but there's no shame in his eyes when he looks at the Deputy Prime Minister. Just a weary acceptance of the way Fate has treated them both. Nick was expecting anger and rejection but he doesn't know what to make of this. He wishes he could say or do something to help, but with his record this week, he's better off staying silent.

"I'll be meeting Samantha and her lawyers this morning," the Prime Minister says as conversation dies down. "I'd appreciate it if you could prepare a press statement and decide what our options are." He and the lawyer exit the room and head towards his office. The buzz of conversation is loud and filled with speculation when he's gone.

*

They spend the next 2 hours working on the problem and by the time the meeting is over, Nick has heard at least five different theories for why the Prime Minister is getting a divorce; all of them total bollocks. George is being unusually supportive towards the Prime Minister. He notices that Nick doesn't join in the speculation and tuts, shaking his head. "I thought you were on his side, Cleggy. Don't you have anything useful to say? You Liberals aren't usually so uptight when it comes to marriage and free love and stuff like that."

Nick truly can't be bothered duelling with him - nor does he trust his own mouth - so he gathers his papers and takes the lead as the cabinet members file out, heading in search of coffee. He really should have known that the curse of Clegg wasn't finished with him yet. Just as he's passing through the main hallway of Number 10, there's Samantha Cameron with a team of lawyers coming out of a nearby office. David and his team are following them.

It's almost with a sense of inevitability that disaster approaches. He stops dead when he sees her, and it's that movement that draws her eyes towards him. It's like a slow motion car crash. She's moving through the hallway towards him, arrow-straight; last night's misery transformed into fury. The other Cabinet ministers - George, Vince, Teresa, all of them following behind him - halt in confusion, but that doesn't matter right now. Nick's full attention is on the avenging angel heading for him. She stops a foot in front of him.

"You bastard!" Her hand lifts and crashes into the side of his face and he reels. "That's for sleeping with my husband! In my own bed!" Then the fury is past; she is striding away like a whirlwind out of the door of Number 10, leaving him to pick up the pieces of a shattered life. As revenge goes, it isn't a bad effort.

"Oh my God!" He hears from somewhere behind him - it may have been Teresa. His cheek is stinging and he wishes the floor could open up and swallow him. They all know. Every single one of them. He's not a prude, and he doesn't give a flying fuck about whether they think he's gay; the pain comes from having something precious and private dragged out into the light and left there to die. He doesn't know what to do so he just stands there, lost.

"God, Clegg, when you fuck up, you fuck up spectacularly!" says George in his ear with rough sympathy.

Then David is there, next to him, his face distraught and he's grabbing Nick's arm and towing him into the empty office where the lawyers met. It's possibly the bravest thing Nick has ever seen, considering the dozens of people who are gawping at them. David slams the door behind them and they're all alone. For a moment, they just stare at each other. Then somehow David is holding him tightly and he's clinging on just as desperately to his lover and he's shaking and shaking, because he thought he'd lost this and now he knows that he hasn't. How long they hold each other he'll never really know but at least for those few moments, they're each other's strength and support. David kisses him and it's messy and desperate and loving and it's all that he wants or needs and fuck everybody else.

"I thought... Um. I thought I'd lost you..." Nick tries to articulate, then just comes out with it. "I think I'm in love with you." He pauses. "Even though you're a bloody Conservative!"

David's arms tighten. He looks directly into Nick's eyes. "Idiot! I've known that for ages." David says, but his own eyes are wet. "Just so you know; I love you too!" He sighs. "Though what we're going to do now, I have no idea. There's bound to be at least one Twitter twat out there, so it'll be all round Westminster in a couple of hours!"

"What do you think your party will say?" asks Nick, still warmed by that "we." Impressions count, in their business, and the pair of them are going to have to spin the story to survive in politics. They both understand that. Hell, the fallout when David had ridden a slightly dodgy horse years ago had been unbelievable - even outpacing foreign wars and economic meltdown as a story. The furore over the Prime Minister's divorce and the possibility of his adultery with his own deputy doesn't bear thinking about.

David rubs his chin; the small gesture the only sign of his nervousness. "Probably, that I've been contaminated by all of your liberal ideas," he says with a frown.

"My party will think that their idealistic young leader has been corrupted by a decadent bloody Tory," Nick says with a spark of gallows humour. He gestures towards the door. "You think they're all gone?"

"If they know what's bloody good for them!" David snaps. "Shall we face the music?" he asks. He bites the bullet and opens the door, peering round it to see if the coast is clear. "Hmm. It appears we have a delegation."

Nick takes a look and sighs. "About what I'd expect," he said. Two Conservative and two Lib Dem ministers, waiting for them. William and George, predictably enough, on the Conservative end and Vince and Danny to support him - he hopes. If it hadn't been for the fact that David had just said the L word, this would have been the worst bloody day of his life.

David takes charge, opens the door wider and invites the waiting group into the office. As they file in, Nick feels like an exhibit in the zoo from the way that they're staring at him.

"Do you notice how both parties are cooperating. It shows exactly how deep we are in the shit!" Nick says to David in a stage whisper. Silence stretches. They evidently don't know where to start. Finally, Vince bites the bullet.

"So, are we treating this as a Coalition issue or a party one," he says with a hint of challenge towards David. No one was denying that there was an issue, Nick notes. He looks at David, whose lips curve briefly in reassurance. He reaches out and his hand squeezes Nick's shoulder.

"Coalition," he says firmly.

"Are you sure you want to go that route?" George asks. "It might be better to maintain some distance between the two of you." He looks at Nick challengingly. In other words, should they stand back and let Nick take the blame? They're all looking at David now.

"If that's what you want..." Nick hears himself say to David, ignoring the shock Danny and Vince display. David's eyes go wide too at the offer, then soften.

"No! You bloody idiot. I'm not going to let you do that! I'd resign first!" David sounds fierce. "We're in this together, all right." They are giving a fine show to the other members of the Cabinet who are watching this by-play with open mouths. "I appreciate the offer, Nick, but I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me."

Nick wants to hold him again, but it's not really an option at this point.

"Let's just get through the next few days - you know the publicity is going to be hell - then they'll find another scandal to fill their trashy pages." David's hand lifts, and for a moment Nick thinks he's going to hold his lover's hand in public, but then it sinks back down again. He longs for it. "So, gentlemen," David addresses the others, "where do you think the biggest problem lies?" They debate for a while, but Nick is awfully quiet.

David can see that Nick is still in shock at the day's events. His head is still spinning, too, but he can make it clear to everyone where his loyalties lie. He frowns. How honest does he want to be with his friends and colleagues? Without hesitation this time, he reaches over and squeezes Nick's hand; Nick looks at him appreciatively.

"We're involved!" David says to the rest of them. "It's non-negotiable. Get over it." He's going to stand by the man that, by now, he's absolutely sure he loves. It doesn't really matter to him that they got together because of some mysterious biological influences caused by the virus. They're bloody good together, and that's all he needs to know. The fallout, however, is going to be a bitch.


	7. Chapter 7

_Day 42_

Rumours travel round Westminster at the speed of light, or as fast as digits can text to friends and Twitterati. The curse of Clegg had struck just after midday, and people had started to ring the press office within an hour, Nick hears. No doubt the rumours will spread far and wide because the topic is such a juicy one.

In fact, the scandal is broken on the @GuidoFawkes twitter site at 1:30 p.m.

He manages to make himself scarce for the rest of the day but unfortunately the press are on the hunt. There seems to be a pack of them outside Number 10, and when he has a call from Jeremy Paxman's people, supposedly to come on the show and give his views on the government's electoral reform (like Paxman would want to know about that!), he knows that the shit has hit the fan. He declines the offer, then takes his phone off the hook for the rest of the night.

Morning dawns bright and clear. Pity it doesn't match his mood. David was right about Twitter - lots of the fringe political tweeters are saying things like, "Calamity Clegg strikes again," and "Question: How is the Prime Minister like one of the three Bears? Answer: He's running around shouting who's been sleeping in my bed?" And a multitude of others of varying stupidity and wit. Well, David calls them Twats for a reason. He has no formal engagements this morning, so he can shamelessly hide away, pretending to take care of constituency business, unlike David who is undoubtedly fielding questions from the press because he's officially opening a new hospital this morning.

The line they've all agreed to follow is that of, "The Prime Minister has no comment to make it this time, since he is subject to legal proceedings in connection with his divorce." Yeah right. That'll work! Though the papers are wary of the libel laws and don't explicitly mention Nick when they're dissecting the PM's divorce announcement, there are pictures of the two of them together and plenty of hints about them being "close."

Unfortunately, Prime Minister's Question Time is due today, and it's one engagement that neither of them can dodge. It's with a sense of trepidation that Nick enters the House of Commons.

The house is quite full this afternoon, and he notices immediately that most of them are looking at him and whispering. He's never felt more like a pariah - the curse of Clegg means that they associate him with disaster. Best avoided or gotten rid of, lest he contaminate everybody else. That thought paradoxically gives him strength - as far as he's concerned, he hasn't done anything wrong. David was separated from his wife before anything deliberate had really started between them. As for the gay thing, well he certainly wasn't the first MP in the house whose sex life had provided fodder for the tabloids. Wasn't there some alleged scandal about George and a dodgy dominatrix?

The part of the debate concerning Northern Ireland questions is coming to an end when the Prime Minister arrives. Various MPs shuffle along the bench so that he can take his customary place next to Nick. Their eyes meet, and Nick relaxes just a fraction because this is David, the man he loves, and there's strength and acceptance in those eyes. Sitting on the bench next to him, just the fleeting warmth of David's thigh touching his gives its own reassurance.

Looking across the House at the Labour frontbenches, they can see Ed Miliband looking exceptionally pleased with himself, an expression which is mirrored on the faces of most of the Shadow Cabinet. It's a formidable line-up to face.

The first question, traditionally, asks the Prime Minister what his engagements are for today, giving the PM an opening so that he can discuss whatever business is uppermost on his agenda. David has decided to lead with the proposed public service workers strike and how disruptive it is for the nation. He throws out a line towards the Opposition about how they should denounce the machinations of the unions. David sits down.

"Is the Prime Minister telling it to us straight?" Miliband says mockingly. There's a roar of laughter from across the House. Nick feels the tremor in the thigh next to his as David tenses. "The Prime Minister can say as much as he wants to about the unions, but might I respectfully suggest that he needs to put his own house in order before he criticises the Other Party and their fruitful discussions with the workers of this country." David frowns at the jeering laughter. There's nothing he can say that wouldn't jeopardise his divorce proceedings.

A Labour backbencher rises with a question for the PM on the Coalition policy on hospital reform - it's an area where the LibDems and the Conservatives have often disagreed, but they prefer to show a united front to the public. David restates government policy.

"I'm glad to see members of the Coalition agreeing, for once," says Miliband. "However, I counsel the LibDems to be careful and carefully watch their Conservative colleagues' desire for more privatisation. The Deputy Prime Minister wants to be careful in case the PM stabs him in the back." The laughter has become more raucous from all sides of the House. This time, Nick can see the anger in David's eyes; he's beginning to feel less helpless and hopeless and more pissed off at the way things are going. Maybe it's an improvement on bloody misery.

The next question is the one that really makes Nick see red. The honourable member for one of the Northern constituencies, John Smith, who is full of blistering contempt, says, "I'm glad, Mr Speaker, that I don't have the same high regard for the Prime Minister that the Deputy Prime Minister has..." Smith smirks. "I wouldn't want to make the unpleasant sacrifices that he has to, for the smooth running of the Coalition. I'd like to ask the Prime Minister if, when he says that the Coalition agreement is underpinning the government, he was referring to his own repellent domestic circumstances? Or is the Coalition as bent as its leaders?"

David notices absently, that there is less laughter than before - some of the MPs are realising that Smith has gone too far. But apparently his anger pales into insignificance compared to that of Nick, because he's almost thrumming with fury. Nick always was particularly passionate about issues touching upon civil liberties.

Nick is on his feet, furious, before David can even move. He doesn't have to put up with this bloody prejudice. It's outrageous, and he's not going to stand for it. No way.

"Mr Speaker, I demand an apology from the honourable member for that remark. We live in a supposedly open and liberal society where our personal choices shouldn't be mocked. Not only is his remark a disgraceful sign of his homophobic prejudices, but it's an attack on the very values that this House allegedly holds so dear. Members of this house should be held to a higher standard than any other part of society when it comes to this sort of hatred and bigotry!" He brings home each point by jabbing his finger fiercely in a pointing motion towards Smith. (David has always loved watching his hands - they're so mobile and expressive when he talks.)

Point made, he sits down forcefully, glaring, his arms folded. David finds himself lost in admiration for Nick's spur of the moment eloquence. Many of the MPs, on both sides of the House, rise to their feet, clapping Nick, not just his own party but even some of the Labour and Conservative backbenchers. "Wow!" David whispers to Nick and his hand momentarily squeezes his deputy's shoulder. Then he stands.

"As you know, I'm unfortunately not allowed to comment on certain matters due to current legal proceedings. However, I'd just like the House to know that I fully agree with the Deputy Prime Minister's last remarks and he has my full support."

David sees Miliband's eyebrows raise and for a moment he looks more sympathetic than David could have expected. The Prime Minister vaguely recalls that there were rumours that on the day of the terrorist attack, that Miliband might have had his own sexual indiscretions. Miliband stands, looking towards Smith with a scowl.

"As the leader of the other party, I would also like to ask the honourable gentleman to apologise. There's a distinction between wit and offensiveness. Our party does not support prejudice either." The guy has gone brick red, and he mumbles something vaguely apologetic before sinking again into his seat as low as he can, trying to look inconspicuous.

David gives a relieved sigh. No-one else is going to risk a charge of prejudice today, but the jokes will start again soon enough. He thinks about the plan he's been formulating in the back of his mind and makes a decision. It'll be bloody hard for both of them, but it will put Nick out of range of the worst of the press and in his case, temptation. Also, having his lover sneaking into Number 10 every night will soon attract the attention of his Conservative Party critics. He'll ask Nick tonight. He hides a smile. There's something else he plans to ask.

*

_Day 87_

The plane landing at Brize Norton military Airport is precisely on time: 19:30 hours: Wednesday 28th March. David knows the exact time it's due; he's known for six weeks and a day, which not at all coincidentally is the time it takes in English law for a divorce decree to become final - assuming the process runs smoothly. It has, because a certain judge, whilst being totally moral and upright, is keenly aware of the importance of pleasing the powers that be. Whatever. The fact is, David has been a divorcee for two days.

The plane taxies to a halt and stairs are manoeuvred into position, then the passengers begin to disembark. The best thing about using a military airport, David thinks, is that the desperately lonely Prime Minister can hug his boyfriend when he arrives home from the latest in a series of trade visits, without the press being around. Okay, maybe some of the soldiers stare, but he doesn't give a damn. Not when he and Nick have been apart for a soul-torturing six weeks and there's a desolate place inside him that only one man can fill.

Nick comes down the stairs, catches sight of him, drops his bags, and then he has his arms full, and Nick is holding him tightly, babbling quite incoherently, "David... Love you... So good..." He just presses his face close in against his lover's neck, breathing in the scent of him, not quite able to believe the reality of having him back...

"I love you!" He says it, even though he doesn't need to, because Nick knows. He knows from the way David is shaking and the way he's unable to let go of him, and the way his fingers are clutching Nick so tightly that he'll probably leave bruises. His arm is still slung around his lover as they walk to the car, followed at a distance by a couple of bemused protection officers.

"So how was Outer Mongolia?" he asks, when they're in the limo and Nick is pressed closer to him than is quite proper - definitely snuggling - and the PM's arm is around his waist.

Nick laughs. "Sain baina uu!" he says. "Mongolian greeting - I've been adding to my languages! And the Mongolian president sends his greetings - he's given me a ceremonial yurt and some fossilised dinosaur eggs as an official present. You should be very honoured. He's given British companies a lot of mineral concessions..."

"Shhh! You're babbling,." David presses a finger to Nick's lips then kisses him, feeling Nick's lips part under his. They don't come up for air for the next ten minutes, which undoubtedly gives the protection officers a good show. Finally, they pull apart. David knows regretfully that they can't go much further until they're alone together. Nick leans his head against David's shoulder with a sigh of contentment.

"So you're a free man?" Nick says softly.

"Yes. For two days," he says. A pause. "You sure you want to do this?" He can't quite keep the anxiety from his voice and Nick can see the hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Try and stop me!" Nick says fiercely and David knows everything is going to be all right between them. His hand closes over Nick's and grips it tight. He wants his plan to work. He's always been a devious bastard, but this time it's not just his career at stake, but their only chance of happiness.


	8. Chapter 8

_Day 89_

Paxman's looking smug, Nick thinks. Who can blame him? On the eve of the Conservative Party Conference, which is shaping up to be one of the most controversial in years, he's secured as guests on his show, not only the PM, but the Deputy PM, his rumoured, sometime boyfriend. Nick can tell David is nervous - there's a certain tension around his eyes - but he's playing it remarkably cool.

The make-up assistant fusses over them for a few minutes, the microphones are fastened on, then they're waiting for the interview to start. The warning light flashes and then they're on air.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," Paxman says. "I'd like to welcome the Prime Minister and the Deputy Prime Minister to the show tonight." The camera zooms in for a close-up. "So, Prime Minister, you'll be looking forward to the Conservative Party Conference which opens tomorrow?" Paxman asks. "Not without controversy, of course." Digging the hole and hoping David will fall into it.

"I am looking forward to it," David agrees. "We're going to have a lot of interesting discussions, and..."

"And the vote of confidence that many senior Conservatives have called for, in your leadership!" Paxman pounces. David gives a wry smile. They expected that. He was up half the night, preparing for this. Nick thinks that there are many worse ways to spend an evening than relaxing on the couch, with David Cameron using him as a comfortable pillow, as the pair of them argue the merits of his next public appearance. Domesticity apart (Nick can't cook), they're good together. Their views differ on a lot of things, but they both seem to thrive on the challenge.

David smiles back at Paxman - never show fear to the wolves or they'll pull you down. "We do have a lot of things to debate, you're right," he says, "but just look at our record - in three years the Coalition has brought this country back from the brink financially. Our record speaks for itself."

"You know that's not what I was talking about, Prime Minister. Your personal life is the issue that's going to be on the top of the agenda this year. Yours and that of the Deputy Prime Minister, who I understand is just back from a trade mission to Outer Mongolia." He tries another tack. "Somewhat convenient timing, wasn't it, having Nick out of the country for weeks while your divorce was finalised."

"I became a free man on Monday," says David with a cool smile, acknowledging the fact of his divorce. It's Paxman's turn to frown. He can tell that David has the upper hand, but he's not quite sure how. He decides to pounce.

"Let me ask you once and for all, Prime Minister, now that you can no longer claim the protection of legal proceedings as a shield... are you having an affair with your deputy?"

Nick laughs and answers before David can reply. "An affair...?" He holds up his hand and shows Paxman the gleaming, white gold band encircling his ring finger. "I'm a happily married man. I'm not having an affair with anybody."

So that's what Paxman looks like when he's dumbfounded, Nick thinks with a grin. David's eyes meet his and he can see the approval in them. "You're married?" Paxman says in evident astonishment. He turns towards David, wondering what his reaction will be. Nick can see how much David is enjoying this - he's engaged Paxman in debates many times before, so there's an element of revenge tonight.

"Before you ask me again whether I'm having an affair with Nick..." And it's at that exact moment that Nick sees Paxman notice what he should have seen all along, so that his mouth almost comically drops open. "Nick and I went through a marriage ceremony yesterday at Witney in Oxfordshire." He holds up his own hand, and shows off his own white gold band, twin to Nick's. "And I most assuredly can't have an affair with my own husband." David reaches out his hand and his fingers grip Nick's. They're holding hands on screen in front of Paxman and pretty much the whole nation.

"You've got to understand..." David says, "...what nobody ever asked was what we felt for each other. This was never a fling or something sordid! We were always serious about each other from the start... And just for the record, I was separated from my former wife before we started a relationship."

"Congratulations," Paxman finally manages, after he pulls his thoughts together. "You're genuinely married?" he says as if he can't quite believe it.

They look at each other openly now. Nick sees the question in his partner's eyes and assents. David leans forward, his hands gentle on Nick's shoulders, then his lips cover Nick's. He feels Nick's... His husband's mouth open to his. Then they're kissing passionately on national television and he's filled to the brim with the joy of it and he doesn't give a damn.

"Hell of a scoop, Jeremy!" David says quietly, as the programs end-credits roll. He grins wickedly at the presenter. Payback is a bitch.

*

_Day 90_

They're sitting having breakfast in their suite at the Hilton conference hotel in Gateshead overlooking the Tyne, on the first day of the conference, looking at the morning papers. The suite has a small but intimate dining table with a great view of the iconic Tyne Bridge, as well as a corporate meeting room (and a glorious walk-in shower big enough for two).

Nick likes an old fashioned paper, but David is using an i-pad. A picture of their kiss, courtesy of the BBC, adorns several front pages. There are also close ups of them holding hands, and a close up of their rings. The headlines include such gems as "Coalition's second honeymoon," "Nick marries Dave," and the truly dreadful "Partners in Prime."

Nick should feel embarrassed, but he doesn't. He quite likes the fuss - now that he's caught his man, and they're officially married. He frowns after a moment - he's getting a bit sentimental there, and really, that's dangerous because they'll have to fight an election in a couple of years when they'll be rivals. Still, at least the Coalition should be fairly stable until then - he and David agree about a lot of things, and just how much the PM will be amenable to persuasion using more unconventional methods - Nick smirks - unethical though that would be, remains to be seen.

David is just as thoughtful, this morning, mainly thinking about his conference appearance. He's feeling fairly relaxed - people will either accept them or not and there's nothing he can do but wait and see. He looks over at Nick, who's smiling at something he reads, and stretches out his leg under the table. He lets his ankle rub gently against Nick's. His partner lifts his eyes and they're filled with warmth, and David can't help but feel a wave of affection for him. But business has to come first, this morning.

"I asked some of the party bigwigs to come here for a meeting, he says softly. They should be arriving soon." Nick pulls a face.

"Not just the inimitable George then?" he says with a sigh. Right on cue, the knock sounds at the door. David calls out permission, and the room suddenly seems full of Conservative big shots; the chairman of the 1922 Committee, William Hague, a couple of lords. Nick's expression turns pained. This is home-work separation in action; he may have married a Conservative, but he's still one of the enemy as far as the Party is concerned. But David needs to work with these people; to get their support before the leadership confidence vote.

William comes over to the PM's side "David, that was one hell of a stunt, last night. When were you planning on telling us?" He eyes Nick dubiously.

George shakes his head. "Fuck!" He's quite expressive; there's a world of commentary in the one word. He glances sideways at Nick. "Just... Fuck!" Nick guesses that his world view has been transformed.

Lord Whatsisface looks pointedly in Nick's direction and scowls. In fact, most of them are staring at him coldly; he begins to realise exactly how much of an outsider he is in their world. The leader of another political party, in fact, and not to be admitted to their inner sanctum, when it comes to party policy discussions. He has enough sense to make himself scarce whilst David argues his case with the Party . He's tempted to tell them that the Conservative party has always advocated marriage, but that would be like poking the bear with a stick, so he bites his tongue.

Time to make himself scarce though, otherwise he'll be dragged into the debate and his liberal views will only add fuel to the flame. He catches David's eye and nods towards the door. David comes over as he's grabbing his jacket. "Nick..."

"You need to talk to them," he says. "It's okay. I understand." A grin. "Don't let them grind you down!" He glances at the party faithful and grins again, then pulls David in by the tie for a brief, "fuck you assholes" kiss. As he pulls away, he feels the other man shaking with silent laughter - David's no-ones fool and he knows exactly why Nick kissed him.

"Later," David says quietly. "Meet me at 11.a.m. outside the main conference hall."

Nick heads down to the conference cent - The Sage - most famous as a state of the art music venue. The building is spectacular, and he takes a moment to admire its strangely beautiful silver curves - like a frozen wave - before heading inside. His security pass, showing him as a member of "Team Cameron" gives him all areas access. It also gives him more than a little amusement. In a way, he could be exactly that, if in his marriage he were to adopt his husband's name. (The possibilities for causing trouble if the PM and his deputy have the same name are briefly tempting.)

The conference organisers have set up lots of little booths for various groups to sell or advertise products and services to the delegates. Nick has never been to a Conservative Party conference before, and he's interested to see what it's like, and how it compares to his own - admittedly smaller - LibDem party conference.

The booths are an interesting mix; merchandise; pressure groups lobbying for party support; volunteer organisations. Nick grins when he sees a mug for sale with a caricature of David's face. It's a bit tacky, but it'll make David laugh, so he goes in to buy it. The saleswoman realises who he is almost immediately and she stares at him in wonder. "It's you, isn't it? Oh wow!" A glance at his purchase and she's suddenly smiling at him hugely. "Congratulations dear. It's on the house." She gives him the mug for free.

Nick wonders whether he's fallen into the twilight zone. He's so used to being unpopular and it feels weird to be liked when he hasn't really done anything. It's not like he reduced taxes or anything - all he did was get married. People do that every day, don't they?

Further on, he comes across the LGB-Tory booth and a couple of grinning young men jump up and shake his hand vigorously. He lets them photograph him and, all in all, he feels cheered by the almost universal positive support he's receiving. The conference venue is filling up now, and there are a lot of people around, including the press, so he retreats to the quietest corner of the coffee shop to feed his caffeine addiction. He watches the crowds, many muttering about the queue outside due to the massive security measures in place at the entrance.

He finds tranquillity - for about 15 minutes - then suddenly, there's a noted political interviewer for Sky News, followed by a cameraman, zeroing in on his position. He and David had discussed this; he's been waiting for the opportunity to add a bit of spin to his presence at the Conservative Party conference.

"Mr. Clegg. May we have a word or two?" He nods and consents to a short interview. They joke a little about whether the interviewer should call him Clegg or Cameron, now that he's married. He generously concedes that Cameron-Clegg, hyphenated, might be acceptable, but he stresses the fact that he has yet to discuss it with David. The expected question comes soon - the one he's waiting for. "So why are you here at the conference, Deputy Prime Minister? Are you coming out in support of Conservatism?" Nick grimaces at the phrasing he uses.

"I'm here to give David support, not his party. Many aspects of the Conservative Party will forever be a mystery to me - my liberal views in fact, oppose those of David's party in many ways. But I do intend to give David my support in his personal life, like the support any married person would give to their spouse. I might point out that this is only the third day I've been married. I'm spending my honeymoon, literally, at the Conservative Party Conference. Don't you think that proves my dedication to making this marriage work - and part of that is being there for David when he needs me. Politics doesn't come into it." He knows how impassioned he sounds.

Spin, spin, spin. Nick is trying to give people an image of him as the dutiful spouse, in the traditional, Tory sense of the word. Nick smiles in a way he hopes is friendly and flashes his wedding ring. He knows many of the people attending the conference will get to hear about this interview.

*

David sighs as the Conservative die-hards once again start on a round of self-justifying claptrap. They hate the situation he's placed them in and he wants to argue that it wasn't his fault - the as yet unidentified terrorists started it - but he doesn't. That would sound defensive or regretful, and he hasn't done anything wrong. In fact, he's pretty happy with the way his life is going, except that he has to win party support, so he sits and listens and nods when it seems appropriate, like a good little Tory.

Some of the older, more traditional members of the party just don't live in this century, or anywhere near it. He's had to reaffirm to the party how loyal he is and he's promised to fight the LibDems tooth and nail at the next election. The 1922 committee isn't pleased with him at all but he's still their best bet for leading the party. Their next best choice is Boris, and his amorous adventures make David seem eminently respectable in comparison.

His i-pad beeps quietly, lying on the table in front of him. His latest App has just informed him of a new news item. He loves the thing - he has Apps to tell him about currency fluctuations, parliamentary debates, the latest political blogs and so on. However, his best App is specifically tailored to notify him of any news item whatsoever about Nick Clegg. It's been his only way of tracking Nick's progress through Mongolia and it's still monitoring stories just about him.

A small picture appears on the screen and he sees Nick in the Sage, networking. Nick is flirting with the camera, showing off his wedding ring, his head flung back as he laughs at something the interviewer says. It reminds David of the first time he held a press conference with Nick at the start of the Coalition, when the LibDem leader was so happy at winning a place in government that the laughter irresistibly bubbled out of him. David has always loved Nick's zest for life.

Enough is enough. It's time to go down to the conference for the opening ceremony, and if the party isn't happy with the promises of loyalty he has made, then it can go to hell.

*

Nick makes his way slowly through the crowds towards the big conference hall. He's getting a lot of attention from the delegates now, most of whom stare at the LibDem interloper like he's an alien or something. Then he sees David, surrounded by a phalanx of security people and aides. They part for him like the Red Sea and he moves confidently to David's side. He can tell immediately that David is stressed, but his partner's eyes fill with warmth when he sees that Nick is there to back him up - not that there was ever any doubt. Only a slight tremor of his hands betrays how nervous he is.

They move into the conference hall, and David heads up onto the podium with Nick by his side. The reception they get is incredible - David is popular with this crowd and the applause is thunderous. David loves it - he thrives on public adulation, like any good politician, and of course, he knows how to work a crowd. He grins at them and then he grasps Nick's fingers tightly, and he's holding up their joined hands to the audience. The crowds go wild. Many, if not all of them are on their feet, cheering.

Nick is deafened by the noise of cheering and clapping, and he can't help but smile at David, who he freely admits is the master of spin. He's filled with optimism now - the grassroots support David has with the party faithful can't be denied now, so things are looking up. Nick's hopeful of a good outcome, and so it proves to be. The vote is taken later that morning and David wins an unprecedented 73 percent of the vote. For the first time ever, Britain has a gay/bi PM with his partner as his Deputy.

*

Their own celebration comes later. They don't rush - anticipation heightens the pleasure - but there comes a time when they're sitting on the edge of the bed together. David opens a bottle of champagne and toasts the party faithful who voted for him. Nick can tell that he's still on a high from his success - his eyes are shining and he has that whole aura of power about him that Nick associates with the authority of his office. It's really hot.

Nick reaches out and snags David's champagne glass, placing it to one side. David looks at him quizzically. Nick leans in and captures his mouth in a passionate kiss - something he's wanted to do all day. He pushes David back on the bed and devours his mouth. He finally pulls away, and retrieves the lube he stashed earlier. The PM is quite happy to indulge Nick, and see what interesting things he has in mind. They're still discovering each others' bodies and David is an eager learner. When he sees the lube, a part of him stands up and pays attention.

"Something new..." Nick promises. "I get to do the work and you lie back and enjoy it..." His voice is low and sensuous. He squirts lube onto his hand and begins to slide it slowly up and down David's erection, then he's astride his partner and impaling himself. David whimpers as he begins to move because Nick is on top and controlling things and that's new and good but frustrating, and he really needs faster and deeper right now but Nick won't move...

Nick bites his lip, because he knows that David is being driven insane by his slow, deliberate speed, but he's enjoying the ride entirely too much. David is panting and desperate and Nick blesses the hours spent on the rowing machine that gave him strong thighs. He quickens his pace and moans because it feels so good, then David is crying out, arching upwards, and the sight of him out of control is enough to send Nick over the edge. He ends up lying on top of David, for a change. Not a bad honeymoon really, he thinks. Not bad at all.

*

"So, did George ever stop saying fuck?" David asks Nick later, as they lie tangled up together in the hotel's king size bed. Nick gives a snort of laughter.

"Eventually," he says. "It was on his mind a lot. Shock, probably. Freud would probably have something to say about that. He's back to normal now though. He asked me if I was your trophy wife?"

"So what did you tell him?" David asks, curious. Nick laughs.

"I said, if that's true, I'd be accompanying you on state visits and I'd get to hang out with Michelle Obama - you know how he's always had a thing for her. That shut him up."

"He likes strong women..." David said sleepily, "But you do realise that you'll have duties as my spouse?"

"No thanks!" Nick said, but David was already asleep.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not real, didn't happen.


End file.
